


A House Divided

by Driverpicksthemooseic (Ratkinzluver33)



Series: Red Hood and the Not Quite Outlaws [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Bruce is a good dad, Death anniversaries are a thing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Overprotective Damian, batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratkinzluver33/pseuds/Driverpicksthemooseic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It was the anniversary of his death, and he hadn't even remembered.</em><br/> <br/><em>He doesn't know why he finds that so funny.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	A House Divided

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT THE HELL IS THIS CONTINUITY? NEW 52 BUT DICK ISN'T AGENT 37?! NEW 52 BUT GORDON ISN'T BATMAN? NEW 52 BUT JAY ISN'T WITH ROY 24/7/365? NEW 52 BUT... YEAH, DAMIAN IS STILL SUPER. Listen, listen, just roll with it. I don't even know, myself.
> 
> All I ever wanna write is the Batfamily being nice to each other. I'm not sorry for this. Or maybe I am. Should I be? There is _a lot_ of angst in this pairing.
> 
> This fic was started ages ago, so a few lines or ideas may have ended up reused in one of my other fics. Honestly, what even is writing anymore? What is life? What is air? What is time? I don't know, because I've been binge writing this for the past few days, and now I am definitely dead.
> 
> Gotham's layout is lightly based on the Arkham series, the comics, the movies, and animated series. It's basically Super One-Size-Fits-All Gotham. Amalgamation Gotham?
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Jay's taking down a human trafficking ring this week, been looking forward to it for months.

It's going good, just about to get better, until the golden child decides to grace them with his presence.

There goes his perfect mood, flying out the window Dick's just broken through, ruined entirely for tonight.

* * *

When he's finished breaking a few bones, he turns his attention back to Dick.

"How nice of you to join us," he drawls. "What brings you to this neck of the woods, Boy Blunder? This isn't exactly your scene."

"I'm tired of this, Jay," Dick begins, and there's a sad and resigned note there that Jay's surprised to hear. "Tired of this fighting."

Jay blinks, recovers, then sneers. "Bit off more than you could chew, did you? Dealing with the family black sheep too much for you, eh, Dickie? It's okay, I understand." He chuckles, dry, cracking a little around the edges. "I'm an acquired taste."

"That's not it," Dick dismisses. He's not rising to the bait tonight. It makes Jay uneasy. "I just miss how it used to be, when we were a team." He turns away and shakes his head, more to himself. His smile is bitter when Jay can see his face again. "You're right here. But it feels like you're a thousand miles away."

"A distance I was comfortably enjoying, until you arrived," Jay points out. "Why are you here, Dick?"

"I missed you," Dick says.

Jay's hackles rise. He sorts through the options in his head, lightning-fast. Poison Ivy's toxin? A drug of some kind? Is Dick concussed? He doesn't seem to be slurring his speech, and his eyes aren't dull and empty. Plus, since he's not jumping anyone, Jay can safely rule out Ivy.

"Are you drunk?" Jay settles on. "High?"

"No." Dick sighs. "Can't a guy miss his lil' bro-"

"Don't," Jay warns. "Your 'little brother' died in that warehouse. I'm not him."

"Yes, you are, Little Wing," Dick says, but he's not trying to sound convincing. The words are hollow, as if he's given up. "You just can't see it."

"Well, this has been a nice reunion and all," Jay begins, unnerved. If Dick's wasted, he can take care of his own problems. "But I've got places to be."

He heads to the window and raises his grapple gun to fire.

"Jay," Dick calls. He stills, rests a hand on the window frame, pauses. "Stay stafe, okay? And call me."

Jay waves a hand in acknowledgement and flips out into the Gotham skyline.

* * *

He realises why Dick was acting so fucked up when he gets home. It was the anniversary of his death, and he hadn't even remembered.

He doesn't know why he finds that so funny.

* * *

His phone has been lying on his desk for some time now. He's picked it up and put it back down more times than he can count.

He turns it over in his hands, filled with an uncharacteristic nervousness. He brushes his fingers over the cracks in the touchscreen; they read almost like a palm print.

_"And call me."_

He puts it down, picks it up again. Puts it down and picks it up once more. He dials.

It rings twice before he hears Dick pick up. "Mmm, hello?"

"Did I wake you up?" Jay asks, trying his best to sound amused, anything but the nervousness threatening to seep in.

"Jay! You called!" He can hear sheets rustling on the other end as Dick presumably sits up. There's a moment's silence before, "You're okay, right?"

It hurts a little that Dick thinks Jay'd only call if he was lying half-dead somewhere in an alley. It hurts more that he's probably right. "Yeah, Dickie, I'm fine."

"Great! Well, it's nice to hear from you," Dick says.

"Hey, um," Jay begins. He has no idea why he's doing this, but there's something in the hopeful tone of Dick's voice that thaws his usual bitter anger. "How do you feel about going on patrol with me later?"

He can practically hear Dick's double take. "Sure. Meet up on the roof of the Museum of Natural History at 10?"

"It's a date," Jay says, and then winces. He's not a little kid with a crush anymore.

"See you then, baby bird." Dick sounds smoother, warmer, and less strangled than last night, so Jay counts it as a win.

Though he's not exactly sure he should.

* * *

He lands silently on the roof at 9:55. Dick is already there. He always is.

"Hood," Dick nods. "Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Jay replies, and Dick motions for them to take off.

He's watching the buildings whizz past, wondering why he's even bothered, when they pass by a group of thugs cornering a cop in an alleyway. Jay knows these guys. They're bad people.

"Wait, hold up a sec," Jay calls, through the commlink. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah." Dick slows to a stop, perching on the building running parallel with the alley. He dips his toes over the edge, peering down. Jay can see him catalogue all the ways to knock them flat on their asses in under a minute.

"Got a plan?" Jay offers.

"You go left, I go right, we meet in the middle?" Dick grins, teasing.

"Fair enough."

He jumps.

It's pretty easy. The thugs aren't expecting two vigilantes to fall from the sky and onto their unsuspecting shoulders, so they can't exactly put up a fight. Jay makes it to the middle in no time, Dick at his back.

He reaches to his holster, but Dick grips his wrist deathly tight.

"Not on my watch, Hood," Dick warns. He's using his Nightwing voice.

"These guys aren't exactly on Santa's nice list, 'Wing."

"It's about the only rule I have, and I'm not breaking it," Dick replies, voice firm.

Jay lets it slide, feeling the fight leave him. Dick tends to do that.

"Alright, Boy Scout." Jay sighs. "Where next?"

* * *

By the time patrol's over, Jay's so damn tired he can barely feel his legs moving. Dick's got this self-satisfied look on his face, even though he's panting and sweating and probably covered in other people's blood.

"We did good work today, Jay," he says excitedly. "I feel more productive than I have in years!"

"It's real cute you're still an optimist, Circus Boy." Jay stretches, hears the pleasant way his joints crack. "Even after all this time."

Dick shrugs. "Someone's gotta be."

Wow, that's classic. Jay snorts. "My cynicism too much for you to handle?"

"If you hang around Bruce long enough, you get used to it." Dick's mouth is twitching at the corners. He does that when he's trying not to smile, but only around friends. His poker face never slips around those he doesn't trust, Bruce made sure of that years ago.

Jay doesn't know what to make of being Dick's friend. Or maybe he's just someone Dick can talk at. He'd be willing to have a nice chat with Harley fucking Quinn if he had to hang around Bruce all week, so. It probably doesn't say much.

"Oh, I'm sure," Jay says, firmly pretending his inner monologue never happened. Better not to acknowledge Dick's extended hand of friendship. Some things he can compartmentalise a little longer, for Christ's sake, he's earned it. "Bruce is great company."

"I know, he can be a bit Hot Topic sometimes. But me and Damian have this running record of all the times he's smiled! Or, well, mainly me. Dami doesn't like to act like he's involved, in case Bruce figures it out. I know he's right there with me, though."

"A bit Hot Topic?" Jay sniggers. "If the press wouldn't have a field day with it, I bet you he'd buy his whole wardrobe in that damn store. The 'woe is me' act never gets old with him."

"Well, I mean, he does have a lot to deal with. I think he has a right to mope around a little."

"You don't see me moping, and I'm practically next in line to take over Selina's position with how many lives I've lost."

"It's not quite nine yet!" Dick says, but his smile's gone a little dimmer. Oh, dear, better not play the death card any more than absolutely necessary. It hurts Prize Puppy's feelings.

"Point is, I wouldn't blame you if you told him to fuck off once in a while. Don't know why you haven't already."

"I ran in Blüdhaven for a bit." Dick shrugs. "It was as much of a break from Batfamily business as I'm gonna get, Jay, and I'm okay with that. You, on the other hand..."

"Yeah, I'm the family disgrace, you don't gotta tell me that."

"No, that's not what I meant at all." Dick's gaze softens. Jay had conveniently forgotten about his sentimental side. "You're welcome any time, you just never visit, is all."

"Tell that to the rest of the Bats. I don't think they'd be so accommodating."

"Damian's a little sour, I'll admit, but everyone else would be perfectly fine with it."

Jay levels him with a dry glare. "I'm not ready for that level of awkward."

"Too 'High School Reunion'?" Dick winces. "Yeah, maybe it would be. Bruce kind of forgets his social skills with the family, y'know?"

"Oh, believe me, I know." Jay sighs, hoping this particular topic of conversation is coming to a close. "It's a miracle that man's survived so long in the spotlight."

"Okay. Stick with one bat at a time, then, right? I'm not too awkward for you, am I?"

"You've always been awkward, Dork Grayson." Jay sneers. "Nothing new there."

Dick puts a hand over his heart, mock wounded. "Oh, thanks. Love you, too, Little Wing."

"Yeah, that's right. You can really feel the love in this family, y'know?"

Dick frowns, the sympathy practically radiating off him in waves. It makes his hair stand on end. "Yeah, maybe we failed in that respect. It may not seem like it, but we do care. I care, Jay."

Jay waves him off. "Okay, Bella Swan, tone it down a little." It's too early for this shit.

Way too early.

Dick raises his hands in surrender. He doesn't look like he's finished yapping on about the power of love, but he knows Jay won't hesitate to leave if this turns into another Batfamily Intervention, so he quiets and leaves Jay with the ambience of Gotham nightlife -- drunken rows and car engines and the smell of cigarette smoke. It makes him itch for the lighter in his pocket.

* * *

His apartment is a shithole. He'd known it when he bought the place, could have practically felt the rats and bugs crawl over his skin if he had left it long enough. But it's never bothered him, not until now, watching Dick sitting in it, awkwardly balancing his fast food lunch on the half-broken coffee table. He's too good for this place. Jay came from the streets, he belongs here, but Dick has spent most of his life in the comforting arms of family, whether by blood or by the bonds formed in sweat and crime-fighting.

It makes his skin crawl, even though he knows he rid the house of its unwanted invertebrate friends ages ago.

"Want a drink?" he gets out, finally. He can't offer champagne or whatever else Bruce has on hand in his billionaire kitchen, but a good beer is a good beer, even in a run-down dump like this one.

"Sure," Dick says, around his admittedly too-large bite of cheeseburger. Vigilante work leaves you tired and aching and hungry, and Jay knows firsthand the starving feeling, the blatant disregard for manners that comes with it.

He makes his way to the fridge, wincing when he finds it full of leftover Chinese takeout and soda. There's a beer in the back, hidden behind all the junk Bruce would no doubt disapprove of, which he manages to get his hand around. He makes his way back over towards Dick's position, sprawled over the ratty couch with ketchup stuck at the corner of his mouth, and sets it down next to the grease-stained paper bag that's been emptied by Dick's hungry hands.

"Thanks." Dick smiles at him, which looks ridiculous in a way only he can pull off, and chugs the beer in record time.

"Thirsty?"

"Yeah, and tired." Dick sighs, rubs at his eyes. "Nothing like a burger to take the edge off, huh?"

"You wanna crash here tonight?" Jay has no idea what he's doing. All he knows is that he honestly doesn't want another night with only the sounds of the upstairs neighbours fucking like rabbits for company. Not that Dick deserves to be subjected to that racket, exactly.

"Seriously?" Dick's tired eyes light up. "You're a lifesaver, Jay."

"Yeah, that's not what I'd call it." Jay shrugs. "But, sure, knock yourself out. You can take my bed. I ain't making you sleep on that piece of shit." He gestures to the couch, which creaks ominously in response. Hell, it's not like he hasn't slept in worse places.

"No, no. God, it's your place, Jay, and your bed. You can take it. I'll be good for one night on the couch."

If Dick's too good for the place, it's the least Jay can do to make it a touch better. "It's fine, Dick. Not a problem. Take the bed."

Dick deflates. "I don't wanna make you sleep on the couch in your own home, Little Wing."

"Yeah, this place isn't home. But if you're not gonna back down, we can compromise." Jay winks. "Wanna share?"

It's a risky move, and he'd probably have been punched in the face if he pulled it on anyone else, but Dick just snorts loudly. His unrestrained laughter echoes off the thin, barely-existent walls, and Jay would honestly take that kind of noise over his neighbours' nightly escapades any day.

"Oh my god, Jay. I needed that, thank you."

"All jokes aside, the bed's yours. If you really want me in it, that's up to you."

"It's not too small, is it? I take up a lot of space."

"Nah, it's got plenty of room. We'll fit."

Dick gives him a fond look. "Thanks, Little Wing. I owe you one."

So much for not re-friending the Bats.

* * *

He wakes to the sound of the news, blaring its usual drivel, face buried in something warm. He cracks an eye open against the harsh light, blinking back sleep, and raises his head from where it's been resting against Dick's side. Dick, who's looking exhausted himself, hands wrapped around the TV remote, clearly engrossed.

"Vicki Vale here, bringing you an exclusive interview with Bruce Wayne!"

Jay rolls his eyes. What can the old man say that hasn't been said before?

"You gonna turn that off?" he grits out, against the dryness in his mouth.

Dick's eyes flick to him briefly, but soon find themselves fixed back on the TV. "He's just so different in the public eye, y'know? It kinda freaks me out."

"Living a double life ain't exactly a new thing for us, Dickie."

Dick shakes his head. "Never stops looking wrong, though." His eyes go distant. "That's not even his real smile. It's just the one he puts on for the cameras."

"We've seen enough uncanny valley shit already. You gonna turn it off now?"

Dick changes channels, flicking until he settles on some garish kids' show, all bright colours and morals and idealism. Just like the Robin lying next to him. Figures.

"Want breakfast?" Jay says.

"Cereal?" Dick offers. "I'll make it. I'm the guest, after all."

Jay sighs. "The host's the one who's supposed to be obliging, Circus Boy, not the other way around."

"Yeah, well. It's the least I can do." Dick has this stubborn set to his jaw. It's his Nightwing face, but it's clear he learnt it from Bruce. Bruce is the only one in the world who can instil that kind of determination into preteen boys and send them out crime-fighting. Jesus, it doesn't seem real half the time.

"Alright, whatever." Jay raises his hands in surrender. "If you say so."

He donates a little attention to the TV while he waits for Dick to get back with the food. The show isn't actually all that bad, even if it is a little blinding. He actually kinda likes it, after a while, which feels like some kind of ridiculous metaphor. He's probably reading into it a little too much, but being trained as a preteen detective doesn't just leave you.

Dick comes strolling back into the bedroom with two bowls balanced neatly in his hands. He could probably balance them on his fucking head if he tried. His whole wild acrobatics shtick was one thing Jay always had fun learning. It was exhilarating, having that kind of grace and precision, and he was only the cheap knock-off. He wonders what it feels like to have the real thing.

Dick's already begun to dig into his bowl of Froot Loops by the time he hands over Jay's own serving. "I got you Cocoa Puffs, if that's okay. They're your favourite, right?"

Jay stares at him blankly. "I'm not even gonna ask how you remember that."

Dick almost looks offended. "Of course I do," he says with force. His gaze goes softer, sadder. "Of course I do," he repeats, almost a whisper.

It's like he's seen a ghost. In a way, he has.

"Well, thanks." It comes out awkward, and Jay fills the ensuing silence with a spoonful of sugar and chemicals.

* * *

Dick gets the phone call later in the afternoon. He's still at Jay's place, miraculously, and has settled himself comfortably in Jay's bed with the TV and the leftover Chinese food Jay generously bestowed as added bonuses. He's just digging into the Chow Mein when his obnoxious ringtone starts up, and Jay watches in dawning horror as the colour drains from Dick's face.

"That's Dami's ringtone." Dick grins nervously. "Bet you the rest of this Chow Mein he knows exactly what I'm doing."

"Put it on speaker." Jay makes grabby hands at the food. "Might as well give it to me now. We all know that little omniscient shit."

"You're with Todd." Damian's voice is somehow booming for a ten-year-old.

"Hey, Superbird," Jay says in the cheeriest, most painfully Robin voice he can muster.

"Todd," Damian says seriously. "I trust you and Grayson are behaving yourselves. And by behaving yourselves, I mean I sincerely hope you're not still pulling Grayson's pigtails like some small child, Todd."

"You are literally ten." Jay looks to Dick, who simply shrugs, like he's used to it. He probably had to be during their legendary team-up. "Okay, Mom, nobody's died. You can unruffle those feathers now."

"So you two are getting along." Damian's inherited deadpan tone comes oozing out of the phone like slime. "By some miracle."

"We always get along," Jay lies like the outlaw he is. "We're the best of pals, ain't we, Dickiebird?"

Dick gives him a sour glare, but his voice goes sugar-sweet. "How're you doing, Dami? Managing okay without me?"

"I'm perfectly capable of running a solo act, Grayson. I only kept you around for your terrible jokes. That, and your company, of course."

Jay hides his snickering behind a mouthful of noodles. Dick's smile falters for a split second.

"I'll leave you two to your Chow Mein," Damian says sweetly, because he knows exactly what bomb he's just dropped, and the line goes silent. Dick goes silent too.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Dick sighs. "He's supposed to keep tabs on the bad guys."

"Whatever. At least the boss man didn't call."

Dick raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sure he knows."

"No shit," Jay says. "As long as I wear the Bat Symbol, I'm one of his many responsibilities. His greatest mistake." Jay waves his hand dramatically.

"He regrets every second he let you down, Jay."

Jay snorts. "I'm just some kid that got killed. Then I came back to haunt him. Except without the fun parts, like walking through walls, or, y'know, the effortless intimidation." He throws Dick a thumbs up. "It's been fun."

Dick winces. "You weren't just some kinda- some kinda _war casualty,_  Jason." He's pulling out the full name now. It sounds weird out of his mouth, when he's so used to diminutives he's long outgrown. "You didn't see what it was like after. He barely said anything. It was like he was just empty. You know the smile I was telling you about? The 'Brucie Wayne' smile? He used it on me." He looks down, eyes going hurt. "None of us were okay, Jaybird."

"But he didn't do shit to fix it. Prevent it from happening again. What's stopping Joker from picking off the rest of the Robins, one-by-one, piece-by-piece? It sure as shit ain't a limited supply of crowbars." Jay sneers at this. "Maybe Damian's untouchable physically, but the Clown plays head games not even the Waynelet can fight."

"It wouldn't just break his only rule, Jay. It'd break _him._ "

"And that's why I'm the mistake, Dickie. 'Cause I'm the only Bat who doesn't have rules."

"You're not a mistake, Jay. Hell, maybe you're the best of us. Doing the Bats' dirty work."

"Still can't escape that fuckin' martyr complex, though."

Dick smiles wanly. "Happens to the best of us."

"Superbird wasn't wrong." Jay cringes. "Leave the dad jokes to Bruce."

"Duly noted."

* * *

Damian actually shows up on their next patrol. He lands soundlessly next to them, perching delicately on a gargoyle, and drops his usual smug veneer long enough to give them a slightly incredulous look.

"I've been sent to supervise." He nods approvingly, and Jay figures all he's missing is the clipboard and lab coat. "Though you seem to have restrained yourselves for the time being."

"Look, Dickie, Bruce sent us a babysitter. How quaint."

"I sent myself." Damian shrugs. An actually human gesture looks off coming from him. Kori could play more convincing than that. "Father approves of this reconciliation, but he is far too trusting."

"Trusting? Bruce?" Jay chokes off laughter. "You're a real piece of work, kid."

"Is his trust deserved, I wonder? We shall have to see, won't we?" Damian narrows his eyes, the edges of the domino mask pinching, much like his expression. "Perhaps I won't be the necessary damage control in your ill-advised escapades. If we're lucky."

Jay raises wide eyes to the sky in disbelief. "And I thought I had issues."

* * *

The patrol is nothing to write home about. Two-Face makes an appearance, strolls down the street for about five minutes to have a drink, and then heads back to his goons before Jay can get a well-deserved hit in. This is probably the most interesting thing to happen in the two hours they've been slaving away, and that's not saying much. The man does everything by halves, mob work apparently included.

Damian, who's only sign of immaturity is his impatience, ends up beating down a group of thugs just for the hell of it. His boredom only makes him more miserable, a feat Jay thought previously impossible, and he spends most of the time being an armchair psychologist.

"What prompted this little reunion?" he says, kicking at a piece of cracked cement at the edge of the rooftop. It falls to the alleyway below with a small ping and echoes back into the night. The neighbourhood they've picked is quiet this time of night, so quiet that the steady falling of broken-off pebbles is probably the only outside noise they've heard in ages.

Jay shrugs. "Anniversary had me feeling nostalgic, what can I say?"

"Ah, yes, the anniversary of your death." Damian nods solemnly. "I have yet to celebrate mine. Quite honestly, I don't plan on rekindling any friendships when it arrives."

"You don't have any friendships to rekindle," Jay cuts in.

"I have plenty, not that you'd know." Damian narrows his eyes. "Because you're never here."

"Roy and Kori are way better company. Plus, I fit right in. Matching hair colour, matching non-existent moral compass, it's a fuckin' riot."

Damian scowls. "Grayson and I are good company. You've simply never bothered to find out."

"I think Damian's a little jealous," Dick adds, light-hearted. "I can't blame him. We've all missed you, Jay."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure it's been a real angstfest."

"Babs and Tim say hello, by the way." Dick squeezes his shoulder. "We talk about you all the time."

"On your anniversary last year, they all cost Father a fortune in food bills," Damian says, almost excitedly. "For once, I didn't need to share with Drake."

"We all got a tub of Neapolitan ice cream," Dick offers. "It started the first year after you were gone, because I said you would've hated us spending the whole day playing Bruce's 'woe is me' routine. I managed to get in contact with Roy to invite you last time, but he said it was probably better if we left you alone."

"I was probably out fighting. And drinking. A whole lotta drinking. It's somewhat of an annual tradition, you see."

"Fighting while intoxicated is an awful idea."

Jay ruffles Damian's hair. The little Robin's scowl only deepens. "I'm made of awful ideas."

"We still can, if you want," Dick says. "There's an ice cream place just down the street, actually."

"Sure, okay." Jay rolls his shoulders, takes off the helmet to shake out his sweat-damp hair. "Why not?"

* * *

They split ways after ice cream, and Jay makes sure not to tell Damian he still has vanilla on his nose. Leave that to Bruce, or better yet, the next enemy Robin faces down.

Dick follows him back to the apartment, whistling into the comms as they grapple. Jay recognises some of the pop songs Kori used to play. Songs Kori used to play which he then downloaded onto his iPod and pretended he didn't still listen to, but whatever. Dick doesn't have to know that.

"What're you gonna tell Bruce?" Jay asks. "'Hey, boss, sorry I'm late, I've just been out fraternising with the enemy. But it's okay! We got ice cream, and nobody's dead yet!'"

"I'll just bribe him with the leftovers," Dick says. "Can't be mad if I brought him home junk food. And, hey, at least I wasn't out getting ice cream with Two-Face."

"Like that scumbag could get the stick out of his ass long enough. At least I know how to have fun."

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure Mr. Freeze would get ice cream with me too."

Jay makes a face. "God, stop before you hurt somebody."

"Never!" Dick grins. "It's how I have such a perfect winning streak. My tongue's so sharp, it could kill a man."

Jay raises his hands in surrender.

* * *

It's afternoon by the time Jay wakes up, sticky-eyed and in sore need of a shot of caffeine, and is greeted by the sound of his phone ringing. It's Dick, again.

"Patrol's not for another couple hours, Circus Boy," Jay mumbles.

"Bruce wants to come."

Jay lets go of the phone, fumbles for a second to get a grip back on it, and makes a strangled noise. "What? Why?"

"I don't know! Maybe he wants to watch us die from the sheer awkwardness." Dick groans. "Or maybe Damian's convinced him to check up on us. That kid's way too overprotective for his own good."

"Jesus H. Christ, I didn't sign up for this. If I'd known when I stole the tires off that piece of shit superpowered tank..."

"Listen, we can do this," Dick says. "We'll just act professional. No ice cream stops, no chatter on the comms, just straight up Bat-approved patrolling."

"Because that always goes so well."

"I won't let him pull anything, okay? I'll have your back the whole time, Little Wing, I promise."

"That mean you gonna protect me from the big, bad Bat? I'm honoured, Dickie. I might even shed a tear."

Dick hears his unsaid thanks anyway. There's a pause, and then, "It also means I'm trusting you not to start any shit, okay? Seriously, this is probably the first time in months none of us have been actively trying to fight each other."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. No shit will be started by me, I can assure you. Brucie boy, on the other hand..."

Dick's silence is telling.

"Do you want to pinkie swear, little birdie? I'll be on my best behaviour, promise."

* * *

He is, in fact, on his best behaviour. Jay doesn't like to miss an opportunity to fuck with Bruce Wayne, but remembering the naked desperation in Dick's voice has him going soft, relenting. He's disappointed people before -- hell, it's practically his profession -- but he doesn't think he can do it to Dick, not now.

So when Bruce glides in, ever the silent shadow, Jay gives him a brusque wave and says absolutely fuck all. He can practically feel the tension slide out of Dick's shoulders, the palpable relief.

"Hey, Boss."

"Dick, Jason." Bruce nods.

Nobody says anything for a good minute. Dick fiddles with his escrima stick, looks nervously around. Jason just waits for the disapproval to return to Bruce's features.

Bruce waves a gloved hand slightly. "Lead on, Nightwing, it's your patrol."

Dick blinks. "Oh, uh, right."

They're led around the city, stopping a few basic muggings, scaring the shit out of commonplace criminals. The usual overkill. Eventually, they end up at Wayne Tower, staring out over the city. Jay's sure glad he's not afraid of heights. One lucky push, one convenient slip, and he'd be dead a second time over.

Still, for all the danger, it's beautiful, all twinkling lights and neon signs. The smell of gasoline is fainter here, so faint he's almost sure he's finally getting a taste of fresh air. This must be what it's like for the Kryptonian crew, feeling the wind on their face, not choking on smog.

Not that he wants to channel Ivy, of course. There's a certain charm to Gotham's industrialism, once you get used to it. And Jay's had plenty of time to get used to it.

"She's lovely, isn't she?" Bruce says. If Jay wasn't 80% sure Tall, Dark, and Brooding had a thing for Supes, he'd be convinced Bruce only had eyes for Gotham.

"There's always trouble in paradise," Jay quips. Gotham hasn't seen a peaceful day since its founding. There's always someone dying here, always another case to solve.

If Jay could see Bruce's eyebrows, he's sure they'd be raised, unintentionally condescending. Bruce can get away with any number of expressions under that cowl, so long as he keeps that mouth in its usual down-turned line. "That's why we're here."

"No rest for the wicked!" Dick says, though he sounds cheery for someone admitting to being worked haggard. "Still, no job I'd rather have."

"You sure about that? Don't you ever miss the circus?"

"All the time. But the Flying Graysons never saved lives. Nightwing does."

"Wow, Bruce, you should be proud. You raised a real, live boy scout."

"He did that himself," Bruce says, and to his credit, he does actually sound proud.

"Aw, shucks, Boss, you're gonna make me blush."

"You've done good work, both of you," Bruce continues. He sounds too fatherly for someone only here to keep a watchful eye on the Batfamily's one bad egg.

"Me? I've done good work? You forget who you're talking to for a sec, huh, Brucie? I'm not the superpowered mini-Bat at home. I'm not sweet little Timmy, either. Or Golden Boy over there. No, no, I'm just Jason, the dead one, who came back all wrong. And that's why you're here, ain't it? To keep me in line?"

Dick nudges him violently, makes a zipping motion over his lips. Message received, loud and clear. Shut the fuck up, Jay, now's not the damn time. He tries to breathe deep. Dick's read his file, he knows it's there somewhere, a listing of its own, Jason Todd's infamous explosive temper.

"I'm not here to keep you in line, Jason," Bruce says slowly. "I came because I was glad to hear you and Dick were getting along."

"And you wanted to see for yourself? Couldn't quite believe I was capable of anything but violence, could you, old man?"

"Jay, stand down." Dick's fingers twitch, tendons moving in his white-knuckled grip on the escrima sticks. "This really isn't the time."

"Why are you here, then, Jason?" Bruce asks. "I understand you aren't too fond of family reunions."

"Dick wanted me around. I wanted to _be_  around." Jay shrugs. "He's... important to me. I wasn't just gonna let him down. I don't _do_ that. Not like _you_ do."

"You care about him." It's not a question.

"I'm standing right here, you guys!" Dick waves. Jay shoots him a bewildered look. This isn't how he imagined the night playing out.

"Yeah, 'course I do." Jay shifts. Fuckin' detectives. "What about it?"

Bruce's mouth lifts up, breaks that usual downturn. God, he knows. He fuckin' knows. Shit. If Dick finds out... "Alright, Jason. Go ahead. It's good to see you happy."

Was that... did Daddy Bat give his blessing? His approval? Jay blinks.

"Okay. What'd I miss?" Dick interrupts. "I am actually trained enough to know I just missed something."

"I'll let Jason tell you, Dick."

"Uh, yeah, no." Jay swallows. "I'd like a ticket out of this conversation."

"You can tell me later," Dick says. "For now, I think we have the rest of the patrol to finish. I hear Penguin's trying to get weapons delivered out of the Ice Lounge tonight."

* * *

Needless to say, Penguin's weapons don't make it out, don't even see the light of day. No goons are prepared for three vigilantes to stroll in and shut shit down, no matter what they say.

Bruce says his goodbyes soon after, leaves Jay and Dick alone on a rooftop near Grand Avenue, listening to the cars rush past.

"What was that all about?" Dick asks.

"Something Bruce should've realised by now." Jay sighs. Vigilante detectives, nothing gets past them.

"You're not usually this cryptic."

"Sorry." Jay shrugs. "It's nothin' you wanna hear, Dick."

"I can't know that unless you tell me, Jay." Dick gives him a quick, sidelong hug. "You know you can tell me anything."

He scowls. "How do you even exist? God, I was never gonna live up to you. Don't know why Bruce chose me as your replacement, I swear."

"Hey! You were a great Robin!" Dick leans against him. "Don't sell yourself short."

Jay just shakes his head. "It's just about me pulling your pigtails, Dick. The Bats get a kick out of it. Nothing new."

"Pulling my pigtails?" Dick raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, Officer Grayson. Can I leave this interrogation now, or am I being detained?" He leers. "Why, Officer, are you going to handcuff me?"

"Jay- Jay, is this- are you telling me you _want_  me to handcuff you? Is that what this is about?"

Dick just couldn't resist the analogy, could he? "Yes, Dickie, that's what this is about. I'm sure Bruce is laughing all the way to Wayne Manor right now. Damian and Tim have already guessed."

"So _that's_  what they meant." Dick grins. "I knew I was missing something!" His expression goes a little warmer. "How long for, Jay?"

"Since I was fifteen, idiot. For a detective, you're sure as shit clueless."

"Well, good," Dick says, and Jay gives him a confused look. "Me, too, _'idiot.'_ "

"I- oh." Jay allows himself a moment to stare dumbly. "Wait, really? The fuck? When did this happen?"

"Honestly? Ages ago, Jay."

He narrows his eyes. "Are you saying we could've been getting laid this whole damn time?"

Dick snorts. "Really? That's what you get out of this?"

"Well, it's true, right?"

* * *

It's two hours before patrol when an arrow flies through the open window and into his couch, barely a whisper of a noise, but Jay'd know that flash of red anywhere. Dick startles awake, even in the gentle quiet.

Jay grabs the Post-it note tacked on to the tail, rolls his eyes at the familiar scrawl. _Prepare for my grand entrance in, like, five seconds. Also, don't let Nightwing shoot me._

"Prepare for a show, Dickie. Oh, you're gonna love this. Also, don't shoot anybody."

Roy comes flipping in through the window, landing and sprawling himself lazily against the wall. "So, a little bird, namely a Robin, told me you and the Bats kissed and made up? Some of that literally?"

"Roy, I should employ you to write my biography, d'ya know that?" Jay drawls. "What brings you to this fine establishment?"

"I've got a job for you. Uh, both of you, if your bird bro wants to tag along." Roy grins. "I can guarantee it will be 100% illegal and 100% fun."

"I'm in," Jay says. "Dick?"

"We're not killing anybody, are we?"

"Nah, just stealing a few secrets here and there. Trust me, if this goes well, the only thing getting hurt will be their pride. No worries, it's at least 75% boy scout approved! And slightly less morally ambiguous than usual!"

"Okay, sounds good to me. When do we start?"

"Now, that's what I'm talking about!" Roy pats him hard on the back. "Jay, if only _you_  had this kinda enthusiasm."

"What're you talking about, Roy? I am _always_  enthusiastic."

* * *

_FIN._


End file.
